


Kisses

by CN7



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Light smut?, Reflective Piece, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 12:57:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16833067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CN7/pseuds/CN7
Summary: Inquisitor Kaaras Adaar reflects upon the ways in which Josephine Montilyet has made her advances in their relationship and what she means in that moment in a script dictated to her.





	Kisses

You have kissed me before. 

On a crisp Santinalia with a heavy unfocus in your beautiful, tired eyes, and a drunken sloppiness I will never regret indulging. Your lips soft, warm, and wet on a night so dry tasted like cider and cinnamon, and my head felt lighter than even inside the tavern. 

Sweetly on the balcony, in the ray of sunlight where birds chirped and sang a harmony of chorus and songs just for us, and the world felt new and exciting as you held onto me and took your foot from the floor.

Quickly, quietly, in the gardens and down empty corridors to keep what has been ours a sacred thing with chuckles, whispers, and sneaky smiles. Where you held my hand as we walked, and never once considered letting me go. 

At the gate where you peppered my cheeks in butterfly kisses like you planned to paint my face for battle with the protective mark of your lips, consumed in an embrace that allowed me to hold onto you for each moment I could not beyond the castle walls. 

You have never kissed me like this. 

My body locked so hungrily to station atop your own, pulled down into you with enough force to consume my being—to understand how far beneath your belts and buckles your curves and lines lie aching. Your fingers vary in pressure along my spine in such a marvelous dance, eagerly down and down towards the seam of my trousers—“I love when you touch my back”— and up and up and into my hair. You pull a handful, and so do I, and never have you tilted your head so eagerly to accept what I offer, full of desire to expose the smooth heat of your neck where the bulb of your throat jumps against my tongue. 

Never with a wonderful chorus of hums from deep within your throat to match the beast of desire swollen in my chest, roaring loud enough to demand I pin your arms back and ravish you. To rid us of that which infuriatingly separates your beautiful, warm skin from my own, and bury our bodies beneath the blankets you are so eager to undo from atop my bed—the one place I had been all too certain you would deem inappropriate to share with me before now. 

How very foolish of me. 

Your thighs squeeze my waist snuggly to your center, and Maker, the world catches fire. 

Blinkling away the red of my vision proves a daunting task when your hair flies away in unkempt strays from the loose curls you hold together at the back of your head day in and out, when your lips are raw and parted to release the ragged breath you’ve lost, when the smell of jasmine and vanilla lingers so heavily in the air in conjunction with something sweet and salty and wanting, when your lovely eyes are lidded so heavily with a beckoning and desire.

For me.

Your nails trace my jaw, and your voice emerges earthier in my ear where your tongue and teeth play, than I have ever had the pleasure of hearing. “Do you long for me, my lord?”

Your weapon of choice has never disarmed me so rapidly. 

The animal growls, and I must squeeze the sheets to steady my mind before the excitement in my heart sends flame to my hands and blood from my brain. I swallow around the lump lodged in my throat, and press my lips to your neck. Softly this time. “Only if you’ll have me. I remain a servant to your mercy, my lady.”

You gape back at me with my face in your hands, and the sudden flush of your cheeks stains my memory with colors of you. 

You square your shoulders and a slight furrow pulls your brow. “Never allow for rumors of injustice to spread on my account.” Your fingers and gaze trace my collarbone, and your voice sinks to a husk. “I have always strived to display a wealth of . . . compassion.”

“I know this.” My voice nearly breaks with the feel of you caressing the skin at my sides, and my hips reflex at lingering sensation of your grasp drifting so close to pieces of me you have never seen. “I was enraptured by it.”

“You speak in past tense. Are you no longer?” you wonder so quickly with your tongue and lips like silk and heaven at my chest. 

My pulse rings in my ears at the heat coursing through my body, and bereft at such the heat in your insinuation, I drive my hips deep between your legs. Not having you is nearly agony now, but your gasp and nails in my back are satisfying enough to admit, “I’m enraptured by all of you.”

You have become my greatest strength.

“Will you make love to me, Kaaras?”

“Indefinitely.”

And my greatest weakness.

You do not make some silly request of me to pretend you are the first woman for whom I have slithered south and disrobed to taste the skin of her calves and thighs.

And I dare not mirror the idea when I find my head wedged in the wonders of you, my lips a vice against most sensitive flesh, your back in a perfect arch of pleasure, and caution how many amongst those who have reveled in your beauty ever actually made love to you. 

Who amongst those who learnt of the shivers you make with calloused fingertips dancing across the unmarred and freckled skin of your waist and the small whines of contentment with teeth brushing at your shoulder, have ever longed to make you understand how beautiful you are? Have their hearts ever leapt into their throats at the sound of your quiet sighs, or cautioned themselves and their wants when your breath hitched or your nails dug deep into their sides? Have they ever made you feel safe? Did they make you feel wanted? Did they kiss you until you saw stars?

For you, I would gladly confess you are the first woman I have ever lo- . . . .

You are.

You are something else.

And I want you it, Josephine Montilyet. 

More than any words I whisper might convey.

Always.

And through this kiss with which you led me to seal my fate, I aim to show you.


End file.
